Living Among Olympians
by Thief of Hours
Summary: Have you ever wondered what Olympus is really like? What would it feel like to live in the Eternal City itself? This is a series of one-shots to satisfy your inner Olympian. In fact, some of these tales may even be worthy of Olympus Weekly itself!
1. The King and Queen

**A/N: I do not own Greek Mythology nor do I own the Percy Jackson and Olympians series. The Percy Jackson and the Olympians series belongs to Rick Riordan. I simply used his character descriptions.**

* * *

 _The King and Queen_

A tall and muscular man quietly opened the massive silver doors and entered his bed chamber. He sported a neatly trimmed black beard and shoulder length hair of the same colour. Although he was slightly older aged, he could still be considered extremely handsome. However, this was, after all, no man, but the king of the gods himself. But for now, worry creased Zeus's brows and rippled across his features. He seemed unusually restless as he walked out onto the marble terrace connected to his room. The terrace was open to the glittering night sky above where Selene raced her shining chariot and illuminated the lives of mortal men and deathless gods alike. Zeus did not notice nor care for any of this. He was too preoccupied in his thoughts as he sat himself on a gold and velvet divan, looking somewhat forlorn. He subconsciously began to straighten his white robes and picked at the gold trimmings.

Zeus, by all means looked like a lost child, extremely upset and sad, but he hid it well. He would not present himself as weak before the other gods, for they needed a strong leader, nor were public displays of such emotions in his nature. While alone, though, Zeus felt his life was missing something, and he did not feel happy without this missing piece; and he knew exactly what was missing. _'Hera,'_ he thought miserably, _'Where have you gone?'_ His wife, the Queen of the gods, had left in rage when she discovered her husband's latest "whore" as she put it. She had been gone several months and Zeus was growing sick with longing. Although he cheated constantly, Hera held his heart above all others. Nobody made him feel the way she did, and nobody came before her. Although he said horrible things about her, he knew he could not live without her. And so he waited, he waited, hoping she would return, and she always did. If she did not return for extended periods of time, then Zeus would go scouring the earth in search of his queen and he would not rest until he had found her and brought her back home.

Just as the moon reached its peak and Zeus was about head back inside, a brilliant flash of light caught the corner of his eye. He turned to look, and there approached Hera in all her glory. Her white gown flowing around her and her pale arms adorned with golden jewellery. A gold crown shone in her long, liquorice black hair, held up in a complicated up do. She smiled softly, her eyes warm and welcoming. Zeus could easily get lost in her large brown eyes, but not right now. He stood, easily towering above her, his forlorn expression replaced with one of anger. "Where have you been, wife?"

A small laugh escaped the goddess's lips, enchanting the night, making the stars possibly even brighter than they already were. Oh, how Zeus had missed that laugh. "I have been away, my lord. Reflecting." She was careful not to bring up the mistress that had caused her absence in the first place. It would be unwise to go down that road again, for it would only cause another fight between the two. Zeus understood this, and simply nodded in acknowledgement. She never revealed where exactly she went when he left, although he speculated it was either back to their mother or her foster parents deep in the ocean. Quite frankly, he did not mind too much, as long as she came back, and as long as no other man or god dared to take her time away as an opportunity to romance with her. _'Great suffering will befall any who dare to try this,'_ Zeus thought jealously.

Zeus was torn from his thoughts when he felt Hera's hands on his shoulders. She smiled up at him, "Perhaps you should be less concerned about me and more so about yourself. You look tired, dear husband. Come." She gently lead him back to the divan and sat him down.

"What are you-" Zeus was about to ask but Hera cut him off with a kiss. She then went to stand behind him and once again placed her hands on his shoulders. She unclasped the gold brooch that held up his robes and let the soft fabric pool at his waist, and she gently began to rub his tense shoulders. As Hera worked her magic, Zeus sighed contentedly, peacefully closing his eyes. All of the previous worry and stress that had been building up inside him quickly dissipated as he enjoyed the company of his wife. For the next half an hour the Queen of the gods continued her ministrations on her husband, until finally Zeus motioned for her to stop. She stepped back and the lord of the skies pulled Hera into his lap. He grabbed her chin lightly and traced his thumb over her lips. Hera did not object. "I have missed you, unimaginably. I have missed our conversations, hearing the way you talk and exploring your mind. I've missed the satisfaction and peace of waking up next to you, the feel of your soft hair and your delicate hands. I've missed how you are not afraid of challenging me, as irritating as it gets. I've missed you, Hera."

Hera smiled broadly at her husband's confession, enjoying the feel of his thumb tracing her lips and settling into his lap. She knew he loved her and would protect her. And despite his rampant infidelity, Hera loved him back unconditionally. Although she would slay his mistresses and hunt down his bastard children in her jealous rages, she truly cared for him. Although she would plot and scheme behind his back, she would never give up on him. _Never_. It was simply not in her nature. And so she hoped that one day her insatiable husband would change, as unlikely as it was, but she was also prepared to stay by his side if that day never came. "Now, let us go inside. We have an eternity to talk. I would much rather spend this night enjoying my wife," he said deeply, his electric blue eyes darkening with lust.

Hera smiled coyly in response, "As you command, my king and master." Before she could move, Zeus picked her up in his arms, bridal style, and carried her back inside. He gently laid her on their grand bed and she drank in his naked form, anticipating the night to come. Zeus crawled over her and undid the fastenings of her dress. He pulled it down, and his eyes devoured his wife's figure. She was easily the most beautiful creature he had ever laid eyes on, and no goddess or mortal could ever give him as much pleasure. There was obviously some truth behind the mortal tales of how she, above all, put him in the seventh heaven. Needless to say, this was proven right when they joined together in union for a night filled with passionate lovemaking.

 _{ag}_

 _02/26/2017_


	2. A Lesson in How NOT to Flirt

It was a nice day; but then again, every day on Olympus was nice. The sun was shining, there was a cool summer breeze blowing, and the flowers were in full bloom. Although the weather wasn't much different during the winter either, still enjoying the day was one goddess in particular.

Athena had just returned from the Trip Café, a franchise of very famous and popular cafes owned by Triptolemus. Athena particularly enjoyed their Ambrosia muffins. It was one thing to have a normal blueberry muffin — the goddess was fond of those too — but it was entirely different to bite into the ambrosia baked and stuffed heavenly delight that was the 'Double "A" Muffin'. Athena had taken her muffin to one of the many parks in the immortal city so that she could enjoy it to the peacefully bustling ambience of an Olympian morning. 'Perfect,' she thought. It was her own wisdom that one should take a break from their busy schedule to enjoy the little things every once in a while; and she was the goddess of wisdom so...

There was nothing that could possibly have ruined her morning until she heard the flapping of wings. Athena tried her very best to ignore it, or feign obliviousness, for she did not want to have this encounter so early in the morning. But would he be remotely courteous of the fact that she was currently about to have breakfast? No, of course not. That simply was not Hermes's style. It was completely his style, however, to come swaggering over with a smug grin and a plethora of twisted jokes. How he thought that could convince Athena to date him was beyond her. 'At least try to come up with a joke that doesn't end in sex or death, preferably,' she thought. However, she would entertain him nonetheless simply for when the conversation turned into a battle of the wits. She enjoyed leaving the silver-tongued god of orators tongue tied. It made up for, well, everything else. The one thing that above all others that irritated her, however, was that cursed internet. He would not stop bragging about it until Athena wanted to shove Aegis up his derriere... And then yank it out with as much force as possible. She would admit, the invention of the internet was a stroke of brilliance on his part, but genius quickly becomes obnoxious when it is brought up in every conversation they have. "But did you invent the one tool that revolutionized the world?" she could already hear him saying. Quite frankly, she had invented many tools that revolutionized the world, like the yoke and the plough to name a few. But as she heard him approaching, she quickly turned her slight frown neutral.

"Athena! What a coincidence to see you here." He grinned and gestured to their surroundings.

"And why is it such a coincidence?"

"Because I was just looking for you but I couldn't find you, so I came here to rest for a few minutes before it's back to work," Hermes answered nonchalantly.

Athena leaned forward, a little curious. "Well now you've found me. What do you need of me?"

Hermes's eyes twinkled mischievously as he fished for something inside the mailman bag slung over his shoulder. "If I could just find it... I swear I put it in here," he said distractedly.

Athena raised an eyebrow. On one hand, the rational side of her thought that Hermes simply brought a message. Although, what could be so important that he would physically deliver it to her? 'Perhaps a summoning from father?' she thought. However, the other, also rational (because she was the rational goddess) side of her recognized that glint in the messenger god's eyes. It rarely meant anything other than trouble.

"Found it!" Hermes held up a fancy white envelope with gold lettering. He presented the envelope to Athena.

She carefully took it, weary of anything that looked remotely explosive. She still remembered the Olympian Masquerade they had a few centuries back; Hermes had given Apollo his invitation, and the sun god had opened it to a face full of exploding gunpowder. She didn't think anyone could look so enraged and offended with a soot covered face. Nevertheless, Athena opened the letter she was currently holding without being sprayed with hot pink dye, or exploding, or being sprayed with exploding hot pink dye. The letter itself was addressed to someone named Hugo Raymond. "Why are you giving this to me? Clearly, I am not Hugo, nor am I Raymond, and I am most certainly not Hugo Raymond."

"A goddess named Hugo," Hermes said thoughtfully, "One probably has to exist somewhere out there; probably our half-sister." Athena smiled lightly at his scathingly accurate comment. She was glad that neither Zeus nor Hera were anywhere near the vicinity.

"Anyways, the letter is addressed to me. It's an invitation to some mortal gala. Something about science and communications technology. Hugo Raymond has been invited to accept an award for his technological breakthrough that will revolutionize the communications industry," Hermes stated smugly.

"Oh, congratulations Hermes! What's the new invention?" Although she hated how smug he was, her curiosity did her better as he caught her interest with this new breakthrough.

"I can show it to you, before anyone else gets their hands on it. But you have to come along with me to the gala. Maybe we can even celebrate the award I win afterwards." He gave her a sly wink and a flying kiss.

Athena stared at him as if he had grown a second head. Then, she gave her famous death glare. Then, she proceeded to slap Hermes across the face. Then, she began to throw an entire dictionary — scratch that, maybe more like several dictionaries — of very colourful words at him in Ancient Greek, most of which she, herself, had learned from Artemis, who in turn, had learned them from the Phoenicians. It's always the Phoenicians. Meanwhile, Hermes was still caressing his stinging cheek and his wounded ego, blank shock written across his face.

"You – You slapped me."

"Oh my bad, would you prefer being run through with my spear instead?"

White, hot anger quickly replaced Hermes's shock. "All I asked was for you to accompany me to the gala, and you slap me!?"

Athena crossed her arms. "Really? All you did was ask me to the gala?"

"A simple 'no' would have sufficed," Hermes growled. "By Zeus, this is why nobody ever asks you on a date!"

"You half-brained twit! No one asks me on a date because I am a sworn virgin! Some people actually respect that oath; hard to believe, I know!" she yelled.

By now, everybody within a 50 foot radius of the two had quickly cleared the area. They did not want to get caught in the crossfire and be turned into a rather ugly mushroom or other pathetic forms of flora. Fights between Olympians were a nasty thing; even the small spats could result in at least one major national catastrophe. You know how families can be. Nonetheless, they still intently watched the scene unfold from afar. This was going to be the latest gossip and it was definitely going to be all over the Olympian tabloids. Olympus Weekly would probably read "Secret Flame Between Hermes and Athena: Fallout or Marriage Plans? Visit page 3".

The two gods continued bickering for a few moments before Athena finally noticed that they were creating quite a scene. "Fine I'll come with you to the gala, but only because I don't want to read about our secret wedding tomorrow in Olympus Weekly."

Hermes's anger quickly dissipated. "Hey, a secret wedding wouldn't be so bad. I know just the place. It's –"

"No."

"Okay well, this little gala thing, we'll call it a date."

"It's like you're asking to be thrown off Olympus," Athena replied, growing more and more irritated, especially given Hermes's growing amusement.

Hermes gave a lopsided grin. "And that new invention? Best thing since the internet." Hermes knew very well how quickly Athena got irritated when he brought up the internet, and so, unwilling to incur her wrath any further, he quickly flew off.

Athena was left to ponder Hermes's very obvious and very unwanted pining after her. She considered what it would be like to date him, but quickly wrinkled her nose and suppressed the bile she could feel rising up. Her thoughts then shifted to this new invention and Hermes's last words to her. This was definitely going to be the internet all over again. At that thought, Athena felt a faint pounding begin in her head and groaned inwardly. She tried to massage her temples, hoping to stop the pain before it came, but then her eyes fell on something brown on the ground. It was her muffin, uneaten, lying on the grass, and half stepped on; her beautiful, delicious, beloved Double "A" Muffin. Suddenly, she really wished she had indeed run Hermes through with her spear.

January 27, 2018


	3. The Daddiest of All Daddy Issues

Artemis couldn't tell whether she was more hurt or angry. Perhaps she was both. After everything he had promised and told her, this was the kind of man he turned out to be. The goddess wasn't too surprised however. She always knew him to be capable of such savagery and lechery. But even she could not have predicted her father to take his carnal hobbies to such a vile and downright monstrous extent. Still, Zeus had desecrated the oath her beloved follower had made to the goddess, the very same oath Artemis herself had made to her father.

As she stalked through the halls of the Olympian palace, she could feel her rage broiling inside her. She wanted to send an arrow straight through Zeus's skull, or his crotch, or preferably both. However, she would never do that, even though she so desired to. Zeus was the king of the gods and to stand against him in such an act of defiance would have her hurled off the mountain face, much like the lame blacksmith Hephaestus. Artemis could still, however, give her father a piece of her mind; perhaps laced with a little honey-tongued artfulness.

However, before she could make it to the throne room, someone grabbed her and dragged her into a secluded corner. Preoccupied with her fury and bitterness, she had completely missed the stranger's presence, nevertheless, by instinct Artemis had a hunting knife drawn and pressed against the stranger's throat; or at least she thought she did. Clearly the individual had expected this and grabbed her wrist, twisting the knife out of her hand and letting it fall to the floor. As she took in the details of the person, Artemis came face to face with none other than Athena. "What are you doing?" Artemis seethed. "Instead of trying kidnap me, I'm sure just telling me you wanted to talk would've gotten the message across just fine." Artemis's words were dripping irritation.

"You're rampaging down the halls Artemis. Would you really have stopped?"

"I am not rampaging," Artemis huffed indignantly.

Athena raised an eyebrow questioningly, a wry smile creeping across her face. "I think Apollo would disagree. That was very real fear on his face," Athena replied, referencing the god of prophecies who had just earlier jumped – or rather dove – out of the raging goddess's way.

"Good."

Athena sighed, assessing the younger goddess with her calculating eyes. Her gaze pierced through Artemis despite the latter refusing to look at the wisdom goddess. "You know you're smarter than this."

"Than what?"

"You know exactly what."

"He can't just do things like this and expect no consequence just because he's king."

"Father absolutely can do that. In fact, he's been doing it for just about as long as anyone can remember."

"That's not fair!" Artemis could feel the bubble of anger inside her expanding, ready to burst. She feared Athena might end up on the receiving end of her ire rather than her pig of a father.

"Of course it's unfair, but who's going to tell him that? You? People smarter and more powerful than you have already tried, believe me. How successful do you think they've been?"

Artemis opened her mouth to reply but found herself at a loss for words. Athena tended to have that effect on people. She hated to admit it, but the goddess of wisdom was right, as usual. She couldn't confront her father. Well, she could, but just not with the choice of words she really wanted to. Quite frankly, Zeus would be more horrified with her very large and very colourful vocabulary than actually offended by her accusation.

The grey-eyed goddess continued, "Father likes you. He will try to appease you with whatever sorry excuse befits the situation. For your sake, I advise you remain in his favour."

"For once, I'm not sure I care all too much about his favour. I want Kallisto back. You wouldn't get it Athena: he raped her. My huntress and my best friend. And using my face too!" Artemis could feel her vision beginning to cloud over with tears. The jagged shards of her broken heart had been cutting away at her insides for many days now. The weight of her grief seemed overbearing, crushing her flat and stealing the very breath from her lungs.

"I don't understand?" Athena asked sadly. "I think you know this story dear sister. When I was younger, I used to train with a group of battle-hardened nymphs by Lake Tritonis. There was one, Pallas, who became my closest friend. And I killed her because of father's interference. Do you think I didn't scream and cry and rage? Or perhaps you put that above the 'goddess of wisdom'? I killed my best friend and it was because of him." Athena paused for a moment, perhaps for dramatic effect or to compose herself, before continuing, "Remember I told you that people have tried to change him; people smarter than you, people more powerful than you – like our stepmother – and they failed."

"Yes but those were different situations. Pallas was an accident and as for Hera – she had to have known he was a monster when she married him. And it's not like she isn't a monster too. Kallisto, the poor girl. He – he savagely – " and suddenly Artemis couldn't take it anymore. She broke down into tears, so grief-stricken she could neither move nor talk. Just then, the goddess of the hunt felt a pair of arms wrap around her. Athena engulfed her half-sister in a soothing hug. Some said the goddess was cold or disregarding of others feelings, but she was easily one of the most empathetic and understanding of the Olympians; and Athena knew; she understood what it was like to lose a friend by the hand of their father.

Artemis, for her part, stayed in her sister's warm embrace as Athena's words echoed in her mind. Many people had tried with him, and none had been particularly successful. There was her stepmother, as Athena had mentioned. Despite her faults, there were times when one could only feel for Hera, who had been ruthlessly forced into submission, much like Kallisto. But Kallisto did not have to stand at her torturer's side for eternity with expected love and devotion. Then there was Athena herself. Perhaps the goddess had never truly moved on from Pallas, even though to the world that incident was long in the past. It would make sense why Artemis sometimes noticed the faintest flinch and clenching of her jaw when people spoke of 'Pallas Athena'. Perhaps Athena's resentment was left to fester when she, the goddess of wisdom, had to sit back and watch her king carry out just about every act of complete and utter folly known to men and gods. Or perhaps, it was long before that; perhaps it was when she was still in Zeus's mind, and learned of her father through her mother's sad smiles and poorly crafted lies about a 'caring and good father who will love you dearly.' Even then, Athena could not be fooled. There was her own twin brother Apollo, who lost his beloved son to their father's bolt. Much like Artemis now, Apollo couldn't hate Zeus, so he chose to hate the weapon instead, and slayed one of the Cyclops who crafted Zeus's Masterbolt. He spent quite some years as a mortal after that. Artemis could see the hidden bitterness in Apollo's eyes grow with her brother's slow and agonising fall from grace. Their father never quite trusted him again. Even Ares had his story. Zeus hated Ares. The king could not stand his very presence. Perhaps Ares warranted such strong dislike with his violent ways, but maybe his violence was not the cause and rather, the answer. Maybe Ares would not take part in war-mongering with such fervent delight had he not grown up knowing his father despised him so much so, he had banished him to be raised by a nymph in far off Thrace. Aphrodite also had a story to tell, as did Demeter and Hestia and Poseidon and so many others. In fact, Artemis was just another page added to that never-ending book.

With these thoughts swimming in her mind, and a hollow heart with no tears left to shed, she untangled herself from her sister's embrace and stepped back. In a steely calm voice, she said, "He still needs to know that what he did was not okay. It was wrong, and it crossed a line. Maybe, he just might listen to a favoured daughter." They both knew this was a hopeless delusion, but still, it was something, if anything, that the huntress could hold on to.

With this said and her mind made up, Artemis slowly yet purposefully stepped into the throne room and Athena watched her, praying the fates be merciful on her sister. The goddess stood there for another moment, before quietly taking her leave with watery eyes in the memory of fierce Pallas who had died in combat, like a true warrior.

 _February 25, 2018_


	4. And His Eyes Were the Colour of Love

Impulse was not Zephyrus's style and yet here he was, knocking on an eternity of misery and servitude. _'All for some stupid mortal,'_ part of him thought bitterly; and yet that mortal truly had been one of a kind but Zephyrus had murdered the youth all the same. The West Wind hated himself for it, but he hated Apollo more. If only Apollo had not been so selfish of Hyakinthos's time and affection, the violet eyed boy might still have been alive. But Apollo was an Olympian and what could one do against the most self-centred, narcissistic, and, in a cruel twist of fate, the most powerful of the divine race.

So here Zephyrus was, standing in the golden halls of a hidden palace nestled in the mountains of Greece. The red blood of mortals pooled in a puddle on the cold, marble floor, tainting the display of divine splendour. Zephyrus clutched the stained discus even tighter as the dripping of blood drowned out the other god's voice. All the West Wind could see was Hyakinthos lying on the ground, his head almost completely severed from his body and his beautiful features marred with last minute horror – or perhaps panic. Human emotions were fickle like that, or so Zephyrus has learned many centuries ago.

Eventually Zephyrus was forced to focus back on the god before him who was sprawled lazily across a marble throne. "I can help you. I can save you from Apollo's wrath, but love is not easy and the price is steep," the son of Aphrodite declared. Zephyrus was well aware that love was not easy if the current bloody floor was any allusion to such a notion.

"Name your price Eros." Zephyrus already had some idea as to what would be demanded of him in return but he had hoped that Eros might show mercy upon his pitiful state.

"You know my price. You tell me first though, why are you here?"

"You just said that you already knew," Zephyrus growled. "Perhaps you have forgotten that it was _you_ who called me here and it was _you_ who said that you had a solution. Believe me, this is the last place where I would wish to be." He should have known that this would be one of Eros's slimy tricks. The god of love was always up to no good, viciously toying with the emotions of men and gods alike, possessing none of his mother's gentleness or her blind faith in the goodness of love. Perhaps the fiendish nature of Ares had made itself known in the young god after all.

"Indeed, I do know. But this was never about me was it now?" Eros smiled wide, cruelty dripping from his lips, his crimson eyes as unforgiving as they were entrancing. Love was not easy or gentle or mild. Love was passion and there were two sides to passion. Eros's mother represented the soft and kind side whereas his father represented the climax of passion achieved amidst bloodshed and gore. _'Love should not be easy,'_ Eros thought.

"Am I not suffering enough already? Would you have me spell it out for you and further delve into my own misery and sorrow!?" Zephyrus asked, grief and rage seeping into his voice. The god of the west wind hated himself already and yet Eros was pushing him further and further into that deep pit of self-loathing.

"You cannot be free from sorrow until you are free from guilt and you cannot be free from guilt until you are free from shame," Eros stated with a calm certainty.

"I cannot admit it! It was Apollo's fault! If he hadn't been so selfish or –" Tears began to spill from Zephyrus's eyes. Of course he knew it was not Apollo's fault and yet the West Wind wanted with all he had to blame the golden god. It would be much easier to hate Apollo than to face what he had done.

"You are guilty Zephyrus. Tell me, of what?" Eros asked once again. Zephyrus remained silent as Eros stood from his throne. The god of love descended the golden steps leading up to the dais and stopped in front of the West Wind. "You will suffer for an eternity if you cannot yield to love." His voice was almost gentle and yet his words were as sharp as one of his father's many swords, cutting through Zephyrus with terrifying precision.

Zephyrus, though, wanted to rip Eros's pretty, little, white wings from his back and slap the younger god with them. He refrained from doing so, although it took a degree of self-control. He also wanted to fly away from this cursed palace and never come back. But some part of Zephyrus knew Eros was right no matter how infuriating he was or how twisted his methods were. "I killed him! I killed Hyakinthos. Happy!?"

"There is more."

"Please don't make me!" Zephyrus cried miserably. He must have been a truly pathetic sight to behold; a god reduced to tears because of a mere mortal boy.

"If you cannot free yourself from your guilt, you may leave. There is nothing I can do for you." Eros turned, ready to leave.

"But I already admitted I killed him. Is that not enough?"

"That is fact, a truth carved in stone to which there is not even a sliver of denial."

"What more could you want? Oh what more, what more!?" Zephyrus despaired.

Eros chuckled. "Oh come now Zephyrus. You make it sound as if I am about to ruthlessly slay you and your family. Anybody within earshot yet not within sight would cry murder." Amusement danced across the god of love's features.

Zephyrus took a deep breath, attempting to regain his composure and reel in his mounting rage upon Eros's snide comment. He knew what the god of love wanted him to admit, but he just couldn't bring himself to do it. Yet he also needed protection from Apollo's wrath and who better than the one who had brought the Olympian to his knees once before. Apollo would not dare cross Eros after the Daphne incident, and to be under the love god's protection would effectively make Zephyrus untouchable. Perhaps Eros had a point with the guilt and the shame. Perhaps Zephyrus would feel better afterwards, despite the humiliation. Maybe if impulse had brought Zephyrus thus far, impulse would be his saving grace as well.

"I loved him. And – and, I wanted him for myself. The wretched archer wasn't the selfish one. I was. And so I killed him because if I couldn't have him, why should he?," the West Wind confessed in a moment devoid of any thought or reason. After his declaration, however, Zephyrus wanted to crawl into the deepest pit in Erebos, bawl his eyes out, and never show his face for at least the next millennium.

Eros broke out into a wide grin. "See? Wasn't that so relieving? Now, here is my proposition: I save you from Apollo's rage and you, in heartfelt gratitude, do anything I want."

"So you are essentially asking for a lifetime of slavery?" Zephyrus asked glumly.

"But I offer refuge in return. Unless you want to be on the receiving end of an Olympian's wrath, and I assure, they're not known for mercy." Zephyrus bowed his head in defeated acceptance, aeons of servitude to this crimson-eyed demon beckoning to him.

 _June 12, 2018_


	5. Flirting 101 With the Wine Dude

Triton's pool party. It was _the_ party to attend for anyone who was anyone, especially the second generation Olympians. Triton held the party at his beach side mansion in Malibu, California every summer and all gods were invited. Well, not _all_ gods, only the super cool and popular ones. In fact, receiving an invitation for anybody other than an Olympian was like, the utmost honour. Of course, the Olympians expected to be invited because they're just a tad narcissistic like that. At any rate, Triton's pool party was the hottest place to be - besides Tartarus - during the summer months if one considered themselves a part of the Greco-Roman pantheon; unless, that is, if Dionysus decided to throw one of his blowout parties in which case _that_ was the hottest place to be, much to Triton's chagrin.

Speaking of Dionysus, the young god was sulking in a shady corner of the patio, sipping a glass of _really_ old juice. Was it actually juice? That is a good question, but, of course the god of awesome parties would vehemently deny whatever it is that is being insinuated because he is dutifully serving out the punishment his father doled out. To answer the question though, yes it was definitely juice. Totally juice.

Now the other, slightly less important question was why Dionysus was in such a sour mood. Here was the god of revelry and merrymaking and all of that legally ambiguous jazz moping around at a party. That just did not happen! It would be like Zeus deciding to become faithful or Ares saying something smart. In other words, Dionysus not enjoying a party should have been, theoretically speaking, impossible. Yet, here the wine dude was, glumly sipping away on his really old juice while all of the other gods splashed about in the pool or relaxed in the glowing warmth of the mid-July afternoon. Dionysus, however, was preoccupied in his own thoughts, scheming away with that little alcohol-muddled brain of his.

"'Sup D?" Apollo pulled up a chair next to Dionysus. "Why aren't you enjoying the party? This is kinda your realm!"

"Don't you have anything better to do? Like maybe hopelessly chasing after Britomartis like a lovesick puppy?"

"Hey! It isn't hopeless. In fact I think she's finally going to give me that kiss today!" Apollo squealed with childlike excitement.

Dionysus stared at him skeptically. "Uh huh. Now go away before I tell her that you stand on the hood of your car and practise 'twerking' as the kids call it."

Apollo turned a shade of bright red that was not far off from his sacred cattle. "I do not! And even if I did you couldn't possible prove it."

"May I remind you of the gem that is Hephaestus TV?"

Apollo grumbled something under his breath. "Fine I'll leave. Didn't have to be such a party pooper though."

Dionysus snorted and took another sip of his really old juice when an idea struck him almost as hard as the Masterbolt – and by all means, the sheer power of the Masterbolt was something all of Zeus's children (except for that insufferably righteous Athena and that other crotch-slaying vixen Artemis) were intimately and very painfully aware of. "Apollo, wait." He motioned for the god, who had just gotten up, to sit back down. "I have a proposition. And if you help me with this one little thing, I'll tell you how to get Britomartis to sleep with you." Naturally Dionysus was lying because Britomartis had been a huntress of Artemis at one point and was still a maiden goddess. Unfortunately, he had to promise Apollo something.

Almost immediately Apollo leaned forward, interested now. "I'm listening."

"How well do you DJ?"

"DJ? I mean I've honestly never tried..." At Dionysus's disappointed expression, Apollo hastily continued, "But I'm sure it's not a difficult skill to pick up. Why would you need a DJ?"

Dionysus stared at Apollo for a few minutes. He was so overbearingly golden with his yellow-blond hair and sky coloured eyes. His grin, ironically enough, could have lit up the dark side of the moon (much to Artemis's dismay) or at least that's what the nymphs were always swooning about. To Dionysus though, it was obnoxious and glaringly fake. On top of that, he always dressed like the world was his runway and he the universe's most sought-after supermodel. Then there was his personality which made everything so much more unbearable. He was always so cheery and optimistic, something Dionysus did not necessarily mind as long as he wasn't sober. But unfortunately he was sober and right now, Apollo was giving him hangover symptoms. This was undoubtedly bad because Dionysus had never actually been hungover. "I imagine it's not that hard to guess. This party is an insult to my divinity. I could throw one that's so much cooler. Of course I'd need a DJ... And I'm sure you'd love to bring a date for once..."

Apollo looked thoughtful for a moment. It was tragically a rather short moment. If anything could make Apollo even more _difficult_ to be around, it was the fact that he just could not shut up about himself. "I suppose. But can we put up a giant statue of me and hang up Apollo themed decorations? People would absolutely love that, I'm sure!"

Dionysus sighed, his nonexistent patience wearing thin. "The details can be worried about later. By me. The only thing you need to worry about is showing up with some sick tunes. That are not praises of yourself."

Apollo looked miffed at that but agreed all the same. "I'm sure this'll be an epic party. People are going to be talking about my awesome DJ-ing for decades. I'll be remembered forevermore as Apollo, god of DJs," Apollo daydreamed.

Dionysus's mood immediately brightened despite Apollo's incessant narcissism. He was going to show this _usurper_ Triton what a real party was. Then he would be the talk of the century and people would forget all about these stupid pool parties. Perhaps Dionysus did share in some of Apollo's presumptuous sense of self-importance after all but then again, arrogance and hubris was an Olympian trademark. At any rate, Dionysus could now feel himself melting into party mode, right at home in the afternoon's chill atmosphere and surrounded by the loud laughter of Olympus's celebrities.

Apollo interrupted his musings quite abruptly though and Dionysus tried his best not to strangle his brother with grape vines. "Right so now about Britomartis." He sounded anxious and eager Dionysus noted.

"Hm, what can I say? It's all in the pickup line you use. Try something smooth but suggestive; ladies love that." Of course that wasn't necessarily true but Dionysus sounded sincere enough and he would certainly enjoy watching Apollo get pushed into the pool – especially after already having gotten what he wanted. Apollo could always refuse to DJ his party but he also did not doubt the effect of the lure of fame.

Apollo looked at him suspiciously. "That doesn't sound like it would work." Perhaps he was not completely thick-headed.

"You just have to sell all of your most devious but attractive qualities. Trust me." Dionysus smiled encouragingly.

Apollo still looked apprehensive but stayed silent. After a rather uncomfortable pause he presented Dionysus with one of the most horrifying and possibly the worst pickup line anybody in the world had ever heard. It was truly awful. In fact a lesser being would have keeled over dead from the horror. It was so terrible that Dionysus vowed to never repeat the statement again, especially among underage company.

"Perfect!" Dionysus choked out, suppressing the laughter that threatened to consume him.

Then, with all the foolish confidence that only Apollo could possess, the sun god swaggered over to where Britomartis stood and Dionysus watched in absolute glee as, a few moments after Apollo delivered his legendary pickup line, she shoved him backwards. Apollo stumbled, his foot slipping, and he went crashing into the pool. Dionysus tried to keep his composure, he really did, but watching Apollo flail around in the water like a plucked wet chicken was simply too much. The god of wine descended into uncontrollable hysterics and while Apollo's failing love life was always a source of comic relief, the really old juice probably wasn't particularly helpful in the whole self-control department. Dionysus, though, hadn't had this much fun in a century and, after he had finally managed to contain himself – it certainly took a good long while – he continued to sip and scheme away.

 _2018-2019_

 _(because I procrastinated for like half a year)_


	6. Horsing Around

Demeter was tired. No, "tired" did not do the dull ache in her very essence, the sharp pain in her bones, and the insanity coiling in her mind any justice. She wasn't tired—she was something more that she could not quite describe. Her feet screamed in protest every time she took a step and her sandals were caked in mud and dirt, worn and threatening to tear at any moment. Her green _chiton_ was wrinkled and equally as worn as her sandals. Lacking her usual jewellery and with little desire to exude divine splendour, she no doubt looked pathetic.

Goddesses rarely looked ugly and Demeter was still uncharacteristically stunning. Perhaps it was more disturbing this way when she portrayed grief and despair as the most beautiful demons that graced the earth. It wasn't that she was ugly, it was that her eyes would never stop moving, never resting, always searching for a miracle just beyond the horizon. It wasn't that she was ugly, it was that there was murder in her voice buried beneath two octaves of desperation and yet she heard nothing at all. It wasn't that she was ugly, it was that all the broken hearts the world had ever shattered had made their home in a goddess who loved too much. It was never that she _looked_ pathetic because she didn't—it was that every sub-atomic particle of her divinity, or of any divinity, had never felt so devastatingly mortal.

But even that did not deter him. Some would love to say that Poseidon is vile by nature and yet there are few moments in life as serene as watching the sea on a calmer day. Perhaps he is vile by circumstance; that is certainly fact as most would attest that the sea is strange and dark and filled with towering beasts that could devour Athens in a single bite. Or perhaps it was the power that came with the crown he wore that day – seashells nestled in black hair – odd but no odder than the gleam in his eyes. Power makes monsters of us all.

He stepped out of the sea draped in glory, sea green robes threaded with gold, no trident in hand but not without its deadly intention. The day was unfairly pretty but Demeter was too desperate to care and unfortunately so was Poseidon. There was a barely-there breeze that gently whispered past the warm, cracking air of Greece and embraced Demeter as a softly as a lover would – _a warning_. But it meant nothing to her and so he watched, fascinated by the gold of her hair that fell softly around her. Even from the shore he could not miss those gentle eyes, always so warm and caring though now they were clouded over with something else—something that made his skin crawl. The discomfort was fleeting though for he would have her and upon this his mind was set.

When he approached her, the yellow beach melting into green fields, he noticed that the grass beneath his feet seemed to be yellower and browner and more brittle than usual. 'She is angry,' he mused and left it at that. Perhaps he thought he could extinguish her rage or perhaps he simply did not care. If she noticed him she showed no sign and continued to yell her throat raw. He thought to listen for a moment but all he could hear was the softness of her laughter every time he made a fool of their brother.

When Demeter did see him he was only a few metres away. She paused her relentless search for just a moment and that was the moment she would come to regret for centuries after. "Why are you here? Do you bring news of my sweet Persephone?" She choked at the end for her daughter's name was like a poison too painful to slide down her throat.

For a moment Poseidon paused; the name 'Persephone' sounded vaguely familiar though he couldn't recall why. "You should rest. You seem tired," he muttered only now taking in her worn down appearance.

"I can't rest while my daughter is missing, no doubt taken by some vicious scoundrel!" she replied in an ugly tone somewhere between a snarl and a sob.

'A daughter,' Poseidon thought with mild interest. He felt sympathy for his sister but his lust was overpowering, all-encompassing even. "Sit with me." He gestured to the ground beside him. He sounded so sincere and genuine that Demeter sank to the ground even before the words had properly registered. Nobody had shown her such kindness since her search began. Poseidon strode forward and knelt in front of her and she could feel her heart cracking even more than it already had, the reality of her daughter's fate setting in. She wasn't sure when she started crying but she knew that not long after Poseidon wrapped her in his strong arms and let her weep into his shoulder.

After her tears had dried and her broken heart had been hollowed, they sat side by side for a while in amiable silence. The sky clear as day above and the sea calm as ever in the distance—her brother was certainly in a good mood—Demeter finally found herself able to appreciate the beauty of the day though the thought of her missing daughter still ate away her mind. While she stared off into the distance Poseidon kept his gaze only on her. She was dressed simply but she had never looked any less desirable. He yearned to feel her soft lips against his and to drown himself in her characteristic jasmine scent. He wished to embrace her in more than just a companionable way and so he reached across and caressed her hand. Demeter made no move to stop him for she appreciated his brotherly concern.

Poseidon felt encouraged and in an instant, his mouth was on her neck and his grip had tightened around her hand. Demeter immediately understood, though perhaps still too late, as rage and panic threatened to smother her. She voiced her refusals with force, both physical and verbal, but he was already far too lost in his desires. He pushed her down and as he moved over her she kicked him with all the anger and desperation that seemed to be leaking out of her bones. His grip loosened and he doubled over, clutching his stomach. Demeter backed away and thought of the quickest animal to carry her away from the lord of the seas. Perhaps if she had thought for a moment she may have never made the next mistake she'd come to regret so dearly. But rational thought escaped her in that moment and she felt her divine essence rearranging itself, losing the mortal form and taking the shape of a brilliant white mare, all with the fluidity of water. Then she turned and galloped away.

Poseidon stood, moments later, anger overtaking the green of his eyes. The sea behind him had grown violent. How dare she refuse him? Had he not been kind enough? He needed her and thus he would have her and that was just that. He watched her flee, her form shrinking with every moment until she disappeared beyond the Arkadian horizon, and he smiled to himself for she had made this chase too easy. He melted away into a sea breeze and solidified again into the guise of a mighty stallion. Though Demeter had escaped his gaze he followed the direction she had run off in.

Demeter, still in the form of a mare, had found a herd of horses grazing in the fields of Onkius, an Arkadian king. She concealed herself amongst them, hoping that Poseidon would grow tired and return to the sea so she could resume her search. To her utter horror though, she noted a white stallion that reeked of divine power trotting towards the herd, seemingly calm, but even she could not miss the anger brewing in his sea green eyes. She tried to escape but horses blocked her path wherever she turned, upon command of their creator who had fashioned them from the foam of the sea. As she felt Poseidon nearing her and without a way out, panic seized her and she froze, her heart racing and her legs impossibly heavy yet still shaking. Such was the intensity of her fear that she found herself unable to dissolve into air or take another form or even flash away to snowy-peaked Olympus.

Poseidon approached her, all gestures of compassion and gentleness replaced with a violent roughness. She whinnied, pleading with him to let her go, to stop, to show mercy, to be compassionate, to not do what he was about to do. She begged with him in the name of her missing daughter who had been ripped from her mother's loving arms. But he would have her and that was just that. He did not hesitate, not even for a moment, completely ignoring her constant string of "no's" and her panicked crying. He had waited so long for this — for her.

The experience was humiliating and painful. Poseidon was not gentle with her, and he took his sweet time. Demeter never stopped resisting, all the while counting every excruciating second _(or was it hours?)_ , intimately aware of every movement they made. She could feel his sweat sticking to her, uncomfortably warm and moist on her skin. The revulsion only added to the numb hatred she had resigned herself to. She tried to twist away but the herd around her closed in and she found herself stuck in a rather awkward and uncomfortable angle, each thrust stabbing painfully inside her.

Perhaps it was the pain or the humiliation or maybe the festering rage that had weeded its way into her heart, but hot tears once again spilled from Demeter's eyes. Her daughter was still out there somewhere, alone and scared, and here Demeter was, trapped beneath the brother who had shown her kindness—false, vile, treacherous kindness. It was a ploy— _she cursed his cunning and swore to set fire to the seas_ —to take her trust and use it to carve away her dignity and shatter her bones, and perhaps her will, stroke by stroke.

Eventually his movements grew sloppier and she doubled her efforts to flee but she herself was already tired and it was no more than a half-hearted attempt easily thwarted. By now his breathing was heavy and he was panting; the sound grated against Demeter's ears and made her stomach twist as bile clawed and slithered into her mouth. When she had almost no fight left in her, Poseidon finally spilled his seed and quietly withdrew.

As soon as he was done, the herd went back to grazing and Demeter staggered away. She turned to gaze into Poseidon's eyes and saw an inkling of concern. Demeter's blood boiled. _How dare he?_ Despite the desire to claw his face off there and then, she gave him one final look of absolute loathing before fleeing to Olympus.

She reappeared in her Olympian chambers in a bright flash, once again in a human form. She could feel his seed, warm and sticky, rubbing against her thighs and, with swift rage, wiped away what she could. She could already sense the life growing inside her and knew that she would bear her bastard brother a child.

Suddenly, it was all too much.

She collapsed in a sobbing heap at the foot of her magnificent golden bed, unfit for any lesser being. If gods could be driven insane, she was certainly teetering on the edge of the narrow bridge between madness and sanity. The loss of her daughter had broken her heart and for a while grief was all she knew. But _this_ had completely shattered her. Gods don't break as easily as mortals but no being is invincible. Demeter certainly wasn't.

The goddess wept and wept, for her sorrow seemed endless. She mourned for her daughter and she wallowed in the hatred and despair brought upon by her own plight as well. But eventually tears run dry and when Demeter could not cry anymore, blinding rage began to seep into her. It consumed her, until anger became the only sensation she could feel, see, or touch.

She simmered in this anger and the accompanying grief, locking herself in isolation in her overbearingly golden Olympian compartments for several months. She would eventually give birth to two children, _his_ children, but she was Demeter and she would love them nonetheless. Then, with cold determination, she set out to find her daughter once again, for that was all she cared for. She needed to bring her home and thus she _would_ bring her home and that was just that.

When she finally left her chambers and descended into the mortal world, none of the other gods batted an eye at her or asked about her two new children. Perhaps they knew what had transpired and respected her enough to not bring it up but then again, when had Olympus ever cared for the plight of a grieving mother or a wronged goddess?

 _January 2, 2019_


End file.
